“A kind gesture can reach a wound that only compassion can heal.”
— Steve Maraboli, behavioral scientist and author of “Life, the Truth, and Being Free”
There he sat on the sidewalk, next to the big ice chest. He had a duffle bag and an empty two-gallon water jug. On the side of the water jug, written in magic marker, were the words, “need work.” He held in his hands a book. At first, I thought it was the Bible. When I stopped and spoke to him, he lay the book down. He was reading Louis Lamour. The day was cold, but the sun was bright.
“I don’t have work for you, but I wondered if you’d like something to eat?”
He looked up, stunned. I felt like I was looking into the face of Santa Claus. He had a round face with red cheeks and snow-white hair under his knitted hat. He sported a neatly shaven white beard. He said, “That would be very nice. Yes, thank you.”
“What would you like?” I asked. He rolled his head and placing his finger aside of his nose he replied in the form of a question, “Chicken?”
I purchased him a chicken dinner with jojo potatoes and a grape soda. He thanked me and spoke a blessing for me. Since then I have wondered about his story — where he came from and where he was going and why was he there. I would look for him again, but he was gone. It’s unlikely I’ll ever know, but I do know that $6.50 did more for me that day than a $100 therapist.
Years ago, I spent 13 years working as a volunteer and on the auxiliary board with the Oktibbeha County Salvation Army. They taught me much. The best was never refuse anyone food because you don’t know their situation. Certainly there are scammers and liars, and there are those who need food. So maybe you have a 30 percent chance there is a food need, and that’s better odds than the stock market. Feeding Santa Claus that day was a whole lot more about me than about him. It might have been the most reasonable $6.50 I’ve ever spent.
Also during my young, energetic, blissfully naive days, I volunteered to be “homeroom mom” to a class of third graders at the county school. I had never been a homeroom mom, and they had never had one. On a few occasions I was invited to the lunchroom. The teacher pointed out a child who would eat his lunch and also part of the lunches of the others. She said it was his only meal. None of the children paid any attention to him while he ate off their plates. They had already learned the food lesson — you never refuse anyone food.
I loved those third grade classes for about six years, bringing them books and stories, activities and cookies. The teacher said I’d sugar the kids up, and then leave them with her. Yes, indeed. That’s what homeroom moms do.
This is especially the season of bell-ringers and beggars, be mindful. You never know if one of them may be Santa Claus seeing if you’ll be naughty or nice.
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